


Grandmas love

by Gwilled_cheeze



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout - Fandom, Fallout New Vegas, dead money - Fandom
Genre: Boones mentioned briefly, Emotional Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 02:03:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12122136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwilled_cheeze/pseuds/Gwilled_cheeze
Summary: Dean domino makes an unlikely friend





	Grandmas love

Dean domino would never admit it, but he was ashamed of himself. For over two hundred years he blinded himself with jealousy, using and abusing everyone for his own personal gain. On the surface he didn't appear to show any remorse what so ever and for years he had made it a habit to push away those feelings, leaving him a bitter shell. 

The only time those thoughts of regret, shame, disgust reared its ugly head was in his dreams. Sleep broke the shackles he had placed over his heart and his nightmares were filled with the faces of those he used, twisted and screaming his own ugliness at him. 

 

He had an odd tingly horror that those dreams were a vision into the afterlife, a glimpse at what Vera and Sinclair had waiting for him. Back at the madre. Back in the isolation and the dark and the pain. 

These dreams felt as though they went on for eternity, trapping him within those walls of masonry forever. Whenever he awoke he felt as though he aged ten years, tired and worn as if he had come face to face with the devil himself. 

\--------------------

Dean didn't have these dreams as often since he escaped the madre, but today he had awoken from one.  
He opened his eyes to find himself curled up in a fetal position in the center of his bed. The covers and pillows were tossed about in an unconscious struggle. His body felt weak and pathetic. Tears and sweat dampened his face and mattress. 

Those dreams often left him in such a vulnerable state. He was shaken, paralyzed, unable to move out of fear of seeing, of hearing them again. It was a disgusting feeling that he had never been able to become accustomed too. 

But as always he bit his tongue and forced himself out of bed. Standing up was always the hardest part. He was thrown off balance by his aged joints and general lightheadedness from the nightmare. He heaved his body up and stumbled from the shift in gravity, ultimately crashing into the wall in an effort to keep upright. 

He pressed both his hands into the wall and shifted so that he could lean against it, his forehead pressed to the wallpaper as he tried to clear his mind by focusing on his breathing. 

Seeing the wallpaper, nicely kept by the staff in its pre-war quality, always helped to ground him. Seeing these smooth, colorful walls, he thought to himself, you're not in the madre. You're in the presidential suit of the lucky thirty-eight. You're not trapped anymore. You're safe. They're not here. You're safe. You're safe. You're safe. 

He repeated the phrase over and over in his mind, trying to block out the memories of Vera's voice, the ghost people, the bomb collar. 

He eventually managed to steady himself and slowly back away from the wall. He looked wearily at his disheveled bed. There was no way he would be able to go back to sleep, not after that. He instead slowly had his way to the bathroom, his body now felt sluggish and empty after recovering from shock. 

He forced himself to take a cold shower. The iciness of the water combined with his furious scrubbing made his skin feel raw and stingy. It was exactly what he wanted, an intense physical sensation in which to focus his mind too. A wake up call in some sense. 

He didn't even notice how early it was till he had already dressed and left his room. He didn't want to stay in there, it seemed as though the room itself absorbed all his negative feelings, turning it into a den of chaotic mental energy.

The hallways of the thirty-eight were much more still than usual. The silence was almost deafening. He was so used to the building being lively and awake. But now, the casino held the same emptiness that his room had, although not as oppressive. It was only when he checked the time did know the reason why. It was six in the morning. 

Dean groaned out loud , it wasn't like anyone was going to hear him. Everyone was still asleep. Dean never considered himself a morning person. Even before the war he never got out of bed till around noon and he carried on this habit for over two hundred years. 

There were multiple reasons why he hating being awake so early, but the one that persisted above all was the energy. People weren't full of energy in the morning. They were tired, sluggish, and all that lazy energy seemed to overwhelm him. He much preferred the afternoon and evening, when people were busy bustling about. It made the place seem alive and full, contrast to the madre. 

At least he wouldn't run into anyone, be forced in a conversation or something. He was much too drained to deal with people. 

One of dean many problems, that he never dwelled on, was this emotional blockage he put around himself. He never really let anyone in and as a result he never had anyone he could rely on for emotional support and comfort. And worse, the sierra madre made him over cautious of people. He had this underlying fear that everyone was out to get him, to use him like he used everyone else. 

Dean didn't know where he was going. He didn't want to walk the empty corridors, waiting for everyone to wake up so that the place didn't seem so empty. He wanted something to do, needed something to do. Anything to distract his mind on how similar the stillness and the emptiness was to the madre. 

Dean had decided to walk to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The stress from the nightmare combined with his own fears reflected with the condition of the thirty-eight had given him a headache. A dull, throbbing pain that made him grind his teeth. The sound of a warm, caffeinated beverage sounded lovely.  
\-----------------------

When dean approached the kitchen he was more than a little surprised to find it occupied. He hadn't suspected anyone to be awake, or at least not in the kitchen at that moment. But walking through the doors he saw two things; a man in a red beret (his name was...Boone? Maybe?) finishing a bowl of sugarbombs and a hulking, blue mass bent over the stove. 

The man in the beret took one look at him before picking up His bowl and leaving. Geez, what a warm welcome, dean thought to himself. 

The blue figure looked up from the stove, calling out to the man as he left the kitchen, "MAKE SURE YOU BRING THAT BOWL BACK SO GRANDMA CAN WASH IT, PUMPKIN." 

The nightkins booming voice sent a chill down deans spine. He had seen this...thing around the casino and took great lengths to avoid going near it. Of all the friends the courier collected and kept on the strip, dean put special effort into avoid that one. He didn't trust super mutants. The only tame one he saw was the one at the madre that kept switching personalities like a lunatic. Despite the couriers claim that "miss lily" was harmless and actually quite caring, dean didn't want to take chances. 

Lily went to turn back to the stove when she noticed dean standing in the doorway. "GOOD MORINING DEARIE," she said, "COME HAVE A SEAT AND GRANDMA WILL FIX YOU SOME BREAKFAST." 

Dean was snapped out of his stupor by the loud boom of her voice. He hadn't noticed that he had just been standing there, staring at her, until she said something. Her voice did not favors on his headache, which was now worse and getting worse with every passing second. 

He begrudgingly took a seat at the counter, closer to the nightkin than he'd like, but too "out of it" for that too be his main focus. He let his head drop and held it in his hands. His head was absolutely pounding and he found the pressure he put on his temples to be a little relieving. He could hear the blood pulsing in his ears, the white noise slowly drowning out everything as his eyes got blurry and watery. 

A hot mug of coffee was placed in from of him, the steam wafting out of the cup and into his face. Dean slowly took his hands away, finding the effort to support his head without them to be painful, and grabbed the mug. 

Wasteland "coffee" was very different from the prewar stuff. For one, it wasn't made with coffee. The plant hadn't existed for two hundred years. The beverage in front of him was made from wasteland plants and tobacco. But it did the job just the same. And to be honest, dean couldn't really remember what real coffee tasted like. 

The beverage was steaming hot and burned his tongue as he forced himself to drink it. He needed the caffeine more than he needed air at this point. His eyes squeezed shut as he forced another swallow. 

"CAREFUL SWEETIE," dean heard the nightkin address him again, "THAT COFFEE'S HOT. DON'T BURN YOURSELF WITH IT."

Dean grumbled into his cup. His headache was starting to go, but he still felt thrown out of wack.  
He was hoping that the stress from last evening would dissipate by now, but the feeling of dread and shame still clung to him like a gangrenous limb, slowly breaking him down into filth and rot. Looking into his coffee mug, dean could see his worn face reflected back in the hot black liquid. He didn't like this face or the person it was attached too, but he was too full of shit and pride to actually admit it. But deep down he knew. And he accepted it and hated that he accepted it. 

His thoughts were halted when an enormous plate, stacked with the most elegant breakfast he'd seen since before the bombs, was placed before him. Fried meats, fresh fruit, sweeten bread. He didn't realize just how hungry he was until this meal was served to him. Or maybe the sight had stirred his appetite. Either way, he was fixated on his plate. 

He reached out hesitantly, almost unsure if the plate was for him. But he was the only person in the room. Well, the only other person in the room. He looked up at the nightkin that had set his breakfast before him. Their smile was gentle, despite how mangled their mouth looked. "GO ON AND EAT YOUR BREAKFAST HONEY. A NICE HOMECOOKED MEAL WILL MAKE YOU FEEL ALL BETTER." 

Dean gave an awkward nod to the nightkin. Despite their kindness towards him they were still large and threatening looking and their voice only amplified those characteristics. He took a bite of his breakfast, the nightkin kept staring at him as if they were waiting for him to try it, and was soothed by the rich comfort food. After eating nothing but processed junk food anything fresh tasted incredible, but this food tasted so lovingly prepared. Eating it made his stomach feel warm. 

"WELL JIMMY, HOW IS IT?" The nightkin asked him. 

"It's, uh, very good," dean said hesitantly. He didn't like the way it was looking at him, breathing out of their nose in large labored breathes, lips held back in a permanent snarl. But the eyes disturbed him the most. The nightkins eyes were covered by a large pair of goggles, hiding any hint of emotion in their eyes. Any sign of ill intent. Dean knew the trick all too well, it's why he wore sunglasses all the time. 

"OH, IM SO HAPPY YOU LIKE GRANDMAS COOKING," the night exclaimed, crossing their arms across their chest and swinging side to side, "I HOPE YOU START TO FEEL BETTER SOON JIMMY."

"It's domino," he replied, getting annoyed by being called the wrong name, by not being recognized , "dean domino."

"OH YES," the nightkin exclaimed, filling up his mug with fresh coffee, "YOURE THE MAN FROM THE POSTERS. THE ONE WHO SINGS IN THE LOUNGE. YOU HAVE SUCH A NICE VOICE, DEARIE. SUCH LOVELY MUSIC."

Dean was thrown off by the compliment. He didn't know why, he got compliments all the time. A little less frequently than before but he still made a name for himself in new vegas. Maybe it was because her compliment sounded so genuine. There was no hint of mockery or jealousy at all. Just pure kindness in her words that seemed so foreign to him. All he could reply with was a muttered thanks as he continued his breakfast. 

For awhile none of them said anything. Lily washed up the crockery as dean ate in silence, the breakfast really did make him feel better, the minutes slowly passing by. 

As dean finished his plate, lily poured him another coffee and took a seat across the counter from him. Dean eyed her suspiciously. 

"I HOPE YOUR BREAKFAST MADE YOU FEEL BETTER DEARIE," his voice was oddly low and held a tone of seriousness that made dean feel uncomfortable. 

"I'm...perfectly fine," was his response. He could feel her stare from behind those goggles, they were accusing and intense. He felt so small compared to her, as if at any moment she would overpower and kill him. And then he would be back there, back in the nightmare world. With Vera and Sinclair and the madre and the emptiness. 

Dean recoiled from her, curling in on himself involuntary. the sudden dread of experiencing the nightmare again had overwhelmed him. 

"OH HONEY," Lily's voice was attempting to be smooth and calming, but her vocal cords were no longer capable, "GRANDMA CAN TELL YOURE UPSET."

Her voice was so gravelly and harsh but her words were spoken with such genuine concern that dean found himself relaxing a little bit. He swallowed hard before looking up at her. Her eyes were covered but the lines in her face showed worry for him. She suddenly seemed less threatening than she did before. 

Dean managed to even himself out enough to sit up properly and sip on his coffee. The hot beverage felt soothing going down his throat. 

"DEAN HONEY," lily asked him, "WOULD YOU PLEASE TELL GRANDMA WHAYS WRONG?"

Deans entire body tensed as he thought back to the nightmare, the faces, the isolation. He never shared this part of himself with anyone, he was too ashamed of it, too afraid of it. But he looked at Lily, her face steady, her hands folded nervously over each other while she waited for him to speak, exhibiting a patience that only a parental figure could hold. And for the first time, he didn't feel scared in opening up. 

"It's...hard to explain," he began. He really didn't know how to talk about this, the whole thing made him uncomfortable and tense. But he didn't feel pushed to talk about it. "I...well I did a lot of bad things to all of people. And....I deeply regret it. I blinded myself with jealousy and payed the price through an eternity of loneliness." 

Dean was breathing heavily. He started down at his hands, scratching his peeled and flaking skin awkwardly, trying not to look at lily. He felt like a child confessing to their misbehavior, knowing shame and embarrassment for the first time. 

But lily didn't rush him. He listened carefully and waited patiently for him to collect himself and continue. He took another sip of coffee before continuing. 

"I still see them, in my dreams. My nightmares. And they're...so angry with me. And I just feel so awful. I want....I want to be a better person....but I fear it's too late for me." Dean entire body felt as though it would snap like a rubber band from how tense he was. Although he tried to fight it back, dean could feel his eyes prickling with tears as he forced himself to face his own demons. 

Lily walked around the counter and placed a large hand on deans shoulder. He jumped at the sudden contact but felt to awful to shrug it off. The touch actually felt kind of nice, warm and comforting. It was so alien to him but apart him thought the feeling was so natural. His head began to ache with all the confusing and conflicting emotions. 

Lily's hand moved to his back and rubbed in slow, gentle circles. "OH HONEY, ITS OK," lily cooed at him, trying to steady her voice so that it sounded comforting instead of frightening, "I UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU MEAN. I USED TO WORK FOR THE MASTER A LONG TIME AGO AS AN ASSASSIN AND SPY. I DID SO MANY AWFUL THINGS SINCE THEY TURNED ME INTO A NIGHTKIN, I THOUGHT ID NEVER BE MY OLD SELF AGAIN. BUT YOU SEE, SWEETIE, EVERYBODY HAS THE POTENTIAL TO CHANGE, EITHER FOT BETTER OR WORSE. I PUT MY OLD LIFE BEHIND ME, IT WAS HARD TO ADJUST BUT I STRIVED TO BE THE PERSON I TRULY WAS DEEP DOWN. I THINK YOU CAN DO IT TOO, IF YOU TRULY WANT TO BECOME A BETTER PERSON."

Dean sat frozen in his seat. It shouldn't have surprised him that lily had done horrific things, she was a bloody nightkin. But that side of her seemed so conflicting with this kind and gentle person that was rubbing his back and telling him that it wasn't too late for him. 

His hands clenched and unclenched as he took in the full extent of her words. There was so much love and hope behind them that he hadn't experienced in over two hundred years. He felt as though he might cry again. 

Lily rubbed his back and cooed words of comfort towards him until his breathing evened out and he stood up straight. He felt as if a weight had been lifted from his chest, as though he could breathe again. 

He turned to lily and did the most bizarre thing, something he hadn't done in so long it felt like an alien concept. He wrapped his arms around Lily's torso and hugged her tightly, his mind swirling with appreciation and love and gratitude. Lily very delicately hugged him back.


End file.
